THE HE incidents comprised in the three plays of Henry VI. occupy a period of nearly sixty years the first commencing with the funeral of Henry V., and the last concluding with the birth of Edward V. In these three performances we have, set before us, the wars in France, terminating with the loss of the French towns, acquired by the valour of the fifth Henry, and the whole series of intestine struggles forming the contention between the Yorkists and Lancastrians. Peace has no time even to light her olivebranch; there is no breathing space between battle and battle the wide landscape presents successive, and, as it would seem, interminable fields of blood.

It is remarked by Johnson that these three plays "have not sufficient variety of action; for the incidents are too often of the same kind." We know not how this fault was to have been obviated by the poet who proposed to himself to compress so many similar incidents into the space allotted to them. There is matter here for twice the number of plays; and it is perhaps to be regretted that the author, having waded through his dreadful work unto the accession of Edward IV., did not stop at that point, and form a fourth play out of the grand materials awaiting his hand, in the desertion of Edward's cause by Warwick, and the attempt of that renowned "setter-up and puller-down of kings" to restore Henry VI. to his throne:—a theme worthy of a great dramatist; but which the poet, “for want of space," has so crowded that it loses all shape and likelihood. We close the triune play with little better knowledge of Warwick than his acts supply; and these are akin to those enacted by York, by his three sons, by Somerset, and the two Cliffords. He is a brave soldier, doing no more or greater than others. We see neither his address, his policy, nor his wisdom; and are left to wonder how a man, not raised above his fellows by management or prudence, and at the last, so wofully deficient in both, could have attained the high character equally attributed to him by friends and enemies.

These plays, written while the stage was yet comparatively in its infancy (albeit it soon grew to more than wit's estate), are to be looked upon as historical lessons delivered in the form of spectacles; as productions appealing more to the eye than to the ear; as exhibitions of historical personages, rather than as delineations of historical characters; and, although we are far from asserting that there is no attempt made to illustrate particular passions and dispositions, yet it cannot fail of being observed by the careful reader that (with one or two exceptions), not only is there no nicety of distinction defining the various persons as individuals, but that there is a general resemblance between them. Acts, not agents, were to be shewn, and a great many acts in a brief space; and when it is considered what a number of deeds were to be done, it will cease to be surprising that little more than the impelling cause was made known to the spectator.

This defect in the plan, or want of skill in the youthful poet, and add to both or either the main argument pervading the three plays, in which it is impossible equitably to decide which of the two contending parties is right and which wrong, cause us to feel little interest in the result; and we close their perusal as we should leave the theatre, not sorry to be at the end of our entertainment.

Enough, however, of objection. We have already, in part, spoken of Henry VI. His character, on a slight consideration of it, would seem to be not difficult to paint; and we are not sure that it does not shine the more from the horror and darkness that surround it; but its peaceful sweetness is beyond expression touching; and there are few, we believe, who can read without strong emotion his most exquisite soliloquy in Act II., wherein all images of blissful peace are wrought out of the soul's agony.

The character of Queen Margaret is greatly drawn; but we see its final consummation in the succeeding play. This "she-wolf of France" (her minion, Suffolk, removed by death) indeed asserts the Queen. Jealous of her husband's rights and honour, devoted to her son, this ruthless woman (the mother alone proclaiming the woman) extorts our admiration by her force of mind and energy of purpose; and perhaps a more dexterous exposition of human character was never made than is revealed to us where she exults over Richard Plantagenet, mocking him with a napkin steeped in his son's blood, and where she curses the avenging instruments of her own son's murder.